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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26696374">Aziraphale Makes a Mess of Arranged Marriage</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Estrella3791/pseuds/Estrella3791'>Estrella3791</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Ineffable Husbands AU Week 2020 [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Aziraphale is a royal, Crowley is a Caterer, Fluff, I know it weirded me out too, Ineffable Husbands AU Week 2020, Kinda, Sad Aziraphale, fem!Gabriel, idk man, tagging is hard</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 05:07:36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,617</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26696374</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Estrella3791/pseuds/Estrella3791</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Prince Aziraphale is engaged to Princess Gabrielle. He doesn't want to be.<br/>Stuff happens, and he meets a red-headed caterer who is <em>cute<em>.</em></em></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Beelzebub/Gabriel (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Ineffable Husbands AU Week 2020 [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1942321</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>37</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Aziraphale Makes a Mess of Arranged Marriage</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Reposting, sorry if you've read it before, welcome to my crazy world if you haven't.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="">
  <p>Prince Aziraphale has been slated to marry the Princess Gabrielle for nearly three years now. It’s a brilliant match for both kingdoms for a plethora of reasons. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Aziraphale is not excited.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Gabrielle is the definition of a proper princess. He realizes this. She’s strong and clever and dashing.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>She is also absolutely ravenous for power, and he has no interest in partaking. If he is to be king after his father’s death, he’d much prefer to rule with a gentle hand than look into conquesting and expanding, and this is exactly what Gabrielle would ask him to do. He knows it. She knows it. Their parents know it.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>(He suspects that this is part of why she’s been selected. His parents have always thought him too soft.)</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>At first, Aziraphale was all but resigned to his fate. He’d accepted the fact that he was going to marry Gabrielle, spend a lifetime disagreeing with her and being exhausted, and then die, leaving behind a kingdom that would hopefully be exactly the same size as when he inherited it. He didn’t like that, but it was the way it was.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Now, he’s not so sure it has to be that way.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>It’s been a long time since he’s started noticing the way Gabrielle looks at Beelzebub. There’s something in her eyes when she looks at them that he doesn’t see anywhere else - which is saying a lot, because since their engagement Aziraphale and Gabrielle have been spending the vast majority of their time together.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>It’s never glaringly obvious. (Aziraphale suspects that Gabrielle has spent a long time figuring out how to keep the things she’s feeling off of her face.) It’s little things - the way she all but beams at Beelzebub when they’re in a meeting. The way she brings up their name in conversation when she and Aziraphale are alone and she’s not carefully monitoring her own words. The way Aziraphale stumbled upon them kissing the living daylights out of each other one time.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The little things.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He’s not sure how to bring it up, though. He certainly won’t tell anyone - it’s Gabrielle’s and Beelzebub’s secret. He won’t breathe a word. If she wants to go through with the wedding, despite her obvious affections for someone that is not him, he won’t stop her. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Oh, but the thought of freedom is intoxicating. The idea of being able to walk away from this marriage that he never wanted. Aziraphale has resolved that if he does get out of it, he’s going to start fighting back. He’s had lots of time to think about it, and he doesn’t want to spend the rest of his life with someone his parents picked out for him. He wants to look for his own partner, and, if he can’t find one, spend the rest of his life on his own. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>But, of course, if Gabrielle chooses to take the path of least resistance, he won’t stop her. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>*</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>She shows every sign of doing so. The date of the wedding is set. She spends hours in consultations with his mother, talking about lace and seating plans and cake. Aziraphale tries not to feel disappointed.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>His father talks to him about being a good husband and a good king. He hates every second of the conversation.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The date of the wedding draws nearer. Aziraphale finds himself rebelling more and more at the idea of letting this major decision be made for him. He decides to discuss it with Gabrielle. Surely her love for another means that she’ll understand, that she’ll wish to dissolve the union that hasn’t quite been made yet - for both their sakes. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Yes, she’ll understand.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He knocks on her door, well-rehearsed speech on the tip of his tongue. And then her door opens, and her face has tearstains on it.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Get in here,” she says, and he follows her into her chambers. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Gabrielle - ” he tries to begin, but words leave his mind when he sees Beelzebub sitting on the bed, eyes swollen and puffy. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“We’ve been talking,” says Gabrielle, and her voice is scratchy, like she’s done a lot of crying, “and we have to do it. For our parents, the kingdoms, everybody - we have to.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Beelzebub sniffles and leans their head against Gabrielle’s shoulder. Gabrielle presses a kiss to the top of it. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You understand, don’t you, Aziraphale?” asks Gabrielle. “That this is the way it has to be? Me and Bee behind closed doors, and you and I in front of them?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Aziraphale’s heart sinks.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Yes, of course,” he says. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>And he does. He understands. He just wishes that it weren’t this way.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>*</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Aziraphale’s wedding day dawns bright and early. He feels wretched.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Oh, I remember how nervous I was on my wedding day!” blusters his father. Aziraphale wants to laugh but doesn’t and instead wistfully imagines what it’d be like if it was just nerves. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The hours before the ceremony pass quickly. Aziraphale hates all of them. He feels like his skin doesn’t feel quite right. He feels like he’s trapped in a nightmare. He feels guilty for feeling like he feels.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>It’s awful.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>And then he’s getting manhandled over to his post next to the altar, and there are so many people in the room, all staring at him, that his palms get sweaty, and he thinks absently that poor Gabrielle is going to have to hold onto clammy palms while she makes vows that are going to quietly ruin both their lives.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>And then she’s marching down the aisle, resplendent in her ludicrously expensive dress. She’s smiling, but Aziraphale can see how empty it is. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>How is this happening? he wonders wildly. (Funny how three years of resignation have evaporated so quickly and thoroughly.)</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The priest starts talking. He’s a droner. Aziraphale looks at the flowers in Gabrielle’s hair and thinks how ill they suit her, how much better some pearls would have been. Or perhaps some gems. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>And then the priest says ‘does anyone object to this union?’ and a small voice says ‘I do’ and all hell breaks loose.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>*</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Hours later, after a lot of shouting and quite a few tears and an absolutely exhausting meeting with some lawyers, Bee and Gabrielle are on their honeymoon and Aziraphale is in his room, feeling thoroughly wrung out.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>What a day.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>There’s a tap on the door and he wants to shout at whomever it is but the knock was so timid and he finds himself saying, “Come in.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>A caterer with bright red hair sticks his head in the door.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Hope I’m not, ah, interrupting,” he says, and the poor dear sounds incredibly nervous and Aziraphale is still drained but he has the wherewithal to soothe someone’s nerves. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Not in the slightest,” he says. “Come in, come in.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Well,” says the person, backing into the room, and pulling a trolley behind him, “I thought you might want something to nibble on.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Aziraphale stares.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>There’s a feast laid out on the trays - all his favourite dishes, and several perfect desserts, and a bottle of Château Pétrus, and he finds himself tearing up a little.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Oh, nonono!” says the server, clearly panicked, already starting to wheel it away. “Never mind! I’m sorry! I just thought - it’s been a long day for you and, y’know, sustenance - ”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“It’s perfect,” says Aziraphale, not bothering to hide how shaky his voice is. “Thank you, my dear.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Oh,” says the caterer, sounding relieved. “Oh, thank goodness.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>And he wheels it back up beside Aziraphale’s bed. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“How did you know all of my favourites?” asks Aziraphale, slightly awed. It really - everything on that tray is something he wants to eat. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Just, uh, asked,” says the caterer. “In the kitchens. Y’know.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Aziraphale is starting to, judging by the bright redness of the person’s cheeks and the nearly palpable anxiousness radiating off of him. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“May I ask your name?” he asks, sitting up and reaching for a biscuit.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Anthony J. Crowley,” says the person automatically, “but I mostly go by Crowley.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Well, Crowley,” says Azirpahale, not missing the way the blush deepens when he says Crowley’s name, “this is absolutely delightful. Thank you.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“No worries,” says Crowley, starting to back away. “Thanks. To you. For, er, appreciating it.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Anyone around here can tell you that I always appreciate a good meal,” says Aziraphale, “and might I persuade you to join me, Crowley? There’s more than enough for two, and some company sounds delightful.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p><em><strong>Your</strong></em><em> company sounds delightful</em>, he adds in his head, but they just met and he won’t be rushing things, thank you very much.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Oh,” says Crowley, surprised. “I don’t - uh - maybe - ”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“If you’re busy, I understand,” says Aziraphale quickly, trying not to dwell on how disappointed the thought makes him. “You’ve already indulged me more than enough for one evening.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Oh, well,” says Crowley, and he’s stopped moving towards the door, at least. “I don’t - I’m not on duty anymore. Got nothing else on. If you really wanted - ”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I do!” says Aziraphale, because he really does.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Not sure it’s exactly proper protocol, inviting the help to eat with you,” says Crowley, scanning Aziraphale’s face for signs that he really means what he’s saying. Aziraphale feels a rush of fondness.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I’m not sure either,” says Aziraphale, “but it hasn’t exactly been a day for protocol, has it?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“It hasn’t, has it?” says Crowley, and draws up a chair.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Aziraphale watches him pick at a salad and listens to his account of the panic in the kitchens when it seemed that no one would be attending the feast and feels excited by the possibilities and grateful for what he already has.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>It’s been a long time since he’s felt this way.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>It’s a good feeling.</p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>It was Adam. Adam objected.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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